A Long Winter's Night
by Ada C. Eliana
Summary: Two years, seven months, and 48 states he had searched for Sam. But he had no luck. After all, Sam was a Winchester, a hunter, and if he did not want to be found, then no one could find him.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: This story is an AU companion to my oneshot "The Art of Walking Away." You don't necessarily need to read that, but it's short, so go ahead. This will be a chaptered story. **

**A big thank you to everyone who reviewed the prequel, it was your insistence and kind words that encouraged me to write this.**

**Please enjoy.

* * *

A Long Winter's Night**

By: Ada C. Eliana

Chapter 1

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**Summary:** Two years, seven months, and 48 states he had searched for Sam. But he had no luck. After all, Sam was a Winchester, a hunter, and if he did not want to be found, then no one could find him.

* * *

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything, I'm just borrowing it for a while.**

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Another highway.

Just one more unending road; an endless stream of asphalt lay ahead of him, leading to places he probably did not want to see, and hunts he never really wanted to embark on anymore.

Just one more road to drive down alone; his cassettes playing too loud, but never loud enough to drown out his thoughts.

He should have found him by now. How could his kid brother disappear so effectively, and what had happened to him since?

He remembered that day back in the hospital in Missouri with shocking clarity; waking up to find his father beside him, but not the person he wanted to see most. When John had spoken those words "…he's gone. He left. For good," he felt the floor fall out from under him. Sam's note had not done much to assuage the growing fear and guilt within him; it sounded too much like his brother was saying goodbye; forever. And goddammit if he was going to do that he should very well have done it in person so Dean could've talked some sense into him; stopped him, made him see that what he was doing was stupid.

Because Sam didn't get to decide that; he couldn't just decide to leave and never see them again. Sam was trying to be a martyr, taking off after the demon so that his family would be safe. But what family was there with Sam gone now?

His father?

That was a joke.

He never knew if John had read Sam's note; at the time he had been too shocked to even ask, and John never volunteered the information. John left the hospital immediately to search for Sam, and as much as Dean wanted to go with him, he still needed time in the hospital to recover. His father managed to track the youngest member of their family from the nearest bus station to Topeka, Kansas, and then lost his trail. Apparently Sam had opted against taking another bus, either staying in Topeka or going off on foot; hitchhiking, city buses, using whatever means necessary to disappear.

That had been two years ago.

No one had seen or heard from him since.

Freezing rain spattered the windshield as Dean drove, following the white line as far as it would stretch. He flicked the wipers on absentmindedly and stared at the taillights in front of him as he passed a sign that announced, "Welcome to New York, the Empire State".

Two years, seven months, and 48 states he had searched for Sam. He never did make it out to Alaska or Hawaii, but rather doubted that his brother would have been there. He went so far as to call Sam's Stanford friend, Rebecca, in case he had been in touch with anyone from that crowd. But he had no luck. After all, Sam was a Winchester, a hunter, and if he did not want to be found, then no one could find him.

Dean searched and searched, but in the end he knew it was pointless. And in a way, not knowing could be a blessing. That way, he could hold on to hope; hope that Sam was alive and all right, and that he would come back to him soon.

Because the alternative… Dean just could not let himself dwell on that; the thought that Sam had been killed, perhaps gone up in a blaze of fire, and he would never see him again. Either that or he had fallen prey to the demon's "plans," whatever they were.

No, that was unacceptable, Sam would be back, he would find Dean.

Two years worth of anger roiling around inside of Dean made him bitter and impossibly different.

He hated Sam for leaving.

He hated his father for ever tracking the demon; for ever finding that gun; and more than anything, for ever having introduced Sam to hunting.

He hated himself for getting Sam at Stanford and pulling him back into that life.

And he hated that damn demon for doing this to his family.

Because maybe if Sam hadn't left they could have stayed together.

And maybe if his father never became a hunter then the demon would have left them alone.

And maybe if he never went to Stanford the demon would never have come for Jessica.

And maybe if that demon never killed Mary, then they could have all been together still.

Too many goddamn maybes and even Dean knew he was deluding himself.

In a small way, he was even angry that he had stopped Sam from killing their father and the demon that night in the cabin. He would have lost his father, but he would still have Sam. And now he had no one.

He never saw John again after the hospital in Missouri. He spoke to him on the phone once or twice in the beginning, but they were combing the country for Sam, from opposite ends. He remembered how tight John's jaw had been when they parted ways; how angry his tone had become. And though he tried, he couldn't tell if John was angry with the demon or with Sam. After all, Sam had taken the only chance John had of exacting his ultimate revenge. But shouldn't a father care more about his son than his mission?

Not John Winchester apparently.

During their last conversation though, Dean realized that he and his father had truly parted ways. John told him to give up on the search for Sam and get some work done. Dean had hung up on his father and never called him back.

Dean shook his head violently and forced himself to focus on "Highway to Hell" as it blared through his speakers.

Highway to hell… how apt.

Too apt.

He reached forward and ejected the tape, tossing it on the passenger seat and pushing in some Metallica instead.

He ran the latest case through his mind; a series of disappearances at a small prestigious college in upstate New York, that he had to admit, did not sound supernatural-related in the least, but he would check it out anyway. It's not like he had anything else to do.

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**A/N: I would love to know what you thought. Longer chapters to follow coming soon...**

**_-A.C.E._**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Thank you to everyone who reviewed last time! And don't worry, we'll be finding about Sam eventually. Thanks for reading, I hope you enjoy this chapter.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural, and no one is paying me to write this.

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A Long Winter's Night**

By: Ada Eliana

Chapter 2

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_"There is no greater sorrow than to recall in misery the time when we were happy."_ – Dante

* * *

Dean kept his eyes firmly on the road, and tried to keep his mind on where he was going. He had been succeeding at that well for the last couple of house, but as he drove past a turn off for New Paltz his mind wandered. He remembered the last time he had been there, trying to stop the razor-wielding-painting-haunting ghost with Sam. That had been their last real solo hunt before meeting up with their father and then that night in the cabin; the last time he saw Sam. Things had been looking up at that point; the brothers were getting along pretty well, and Sam had even found a girl he was interested in, coming a bit out of the shell he had been in since Jessica was killed. Dean wondered briefly if Sarah ever thought about his little brother; wondered about what happened to them after they left. She probably didn't, but still it would be nice to know that someone out there still cared.

It was unfortunate but their lifestyle left little room for friends; they would always just leave them behind anyway. There were some people…. They used to have Pastor Jim and Caleb, and there was still Joshua and Bobby, but the Winchesters pretty much made do with just each other. And that had always been enough for Dean. Of course it wasn't for Sam, and he knew after Jessica died, spending every minute with each other was grating for the both of them. They had their fights, but Dean really believed they had gotten along well. Sam chose him over revenge twice; first in Indiana, and then by not killing their father to destroy the demon. They had been close again, and before that cabin in Missouri, Dean could see that Sam was being less broody and more genuinely happy. When they played those pranks on each other and on the wannabe ghostbusters it was just like old times, like before college and Jess – it reminded him of the good times; times he probably would never have again.

A black SUV swerved into his lane, shaking Dean out of his nostalgic thoughts, and rending a stream of curses from him. He gripped the steering wheel tightly and returned his focus to the highway and the stream of cars around him.

* * *

Snow was falling softly as he pulled off the Northway and into Saratoga Springs, sandwiched between two tractor trailers on their way into the city. Concentrating on the road, he followed the signs towards the college.

As he drove he passed a sign for a hotel that proudly proclaimed the availability of 'color televisions.' "Well that must be one classy place," he laughed to himself – no one else was there to listen.

He scoffed as he drove by a row of mansions on his way to the college; all bay windows and fancy brickwork. The opulence some people lived in sickened him; they should be donating that money to a worthy cause, like to their local ghost hunter.

It appeared to have been snowing for a while, a thick layer of white covering the lawns and rooftops of the large homes. The sidewalks had been plowed earlier, but were now covered once again.

A moment later, surprise registered in Dean's mind as he surveyed the twinkling mini lights and decorated fir trees on the properties of the houses he passed. He knew it was December, but any thoughts of Christmas had definitely never crossed his mind.

"Shit!" he shouted as he realized he was about to investigate a mostly empty college campus; everyone having gone home for break.

So much for questioning the residents now.

He turned into the campus anyway, hoping to sort out the problem quickly, and not need much help from the students. He just wanted to finish this so he could move on. College hauntings always bothered him; made him think of Sam and what his brother had done in those years away.

But if John were right (he better not be) and Sam hadn't made it out alive from a confrontation with the demon, then he was even more glad that Sam had gone when he could; done what he wanted at least for a little while.

* * *

Dean pulled the Impala over on the college loop road; a circular expanse that surrounded all of the campus aside from the apartments. A scattering of townhouses only a few years old and completely identical lay to his left. Surrounding the tiny village were the North Woods; dense trees and underbrush kept at bay by the snow-covered landscaping. The disappearances had been occurring for about four years, ever since the college decided to cut down part of the forest and build new apartments.

Dean figured that if it were supernatural, it could be some angry spirit that had been somehow constrained to the woods; unable to attack most of the student populace, but now that the woods were cleared could come into contact with people.

The door of the Impala squeaked as he pushed it open and climbed out into the snow, studying the area. He noticed smoke rising from one of the townhouses' chimney, and smiled that at least someone was still on campus. He slammed the door shut and stepped away, cutting his own path.

He rubbed his hands together as he walked, not having thought to bring his gloves with him and not wanting to go back to the car now. Shoving them deep into his pockets he trudged onto the partially covered walking trail.

Breath puffing visibly in the air before him, snow stuck to his hair and jacket, and white specks flurried in the wind as testament to how bitterly cold it was. He quickly made it to the house, choosing from the selection of doors one where light could be seen through the opaque glass.

A cheery sign announced "Tessa, Jason, Joy, and Dan" in colored marker and had been taped to the door, the overhang above it saving it from destruction by the weather. Sounds of music and laughter filtered out to his ears, and without hesitation Dean pressed the doorbell and waited.

"I'll get it Jason!" a female voice shouted loudly; a bit too loudly just as the door opened. A tall red-haired woman peeked out at him through the partially opened door; green eyes locking with his. "Can I help you?" she asked, her gaze drifting across him; looking him up and down.

"Yeah, my car broke down up there on the loop road, I was hoping to call for a tow," Dean lied effortlessly, even though it meant wounding the pride of his sole companion – the Impala.

"Sure, come on in," she answered. Dean stepped into the little mud room and storage area and then followed the girl to the kitchen. The apartment was nicer than any hotel he had ever stayed in, with a full kitchen furnished with stainless steel appliances and an island that doubled as a bar. Behind that a long kitchen table separated the eating area form a living room with matching couches and chairs.

Two people sat on the barstools, both of Chinese descent and hanging all over each other. Boyfriend and girlfriend, Dean surmised. "I'm Tessa by the way," his guide said, and Dean took a moment to look at her, thin with curves in the right places, and slightly chubby cheeks spotted with pale freckles.

"Dean," he responded.

"Hey guys, this is Dean, his car broke down, he needs to call for a tow truck," Tessa announced to the pair at the counter, the furred hood on her vest bobbing as she made her way behind them.

"Hey, I'm Jason," the guy introduced himself, fine dark hair falling in his eyes as he moved his head. His voice carried just the hint of an accent, and each word was spoken carefully and slowly.

"I'm Joy," the petite girl said, extricating herself from Jason's embrace and smiling politely at Dean.

"Must be annoying, getting your car broken down here, cell reception's crap," Tessa said as she led him to the phone on the wall. Dean followed the directions to call outside of the campus, and played it safe; calling an old hunting friend and having a one-sided conversation about his broken car with him. There was no sense in faking a call and having the phone ring in the middle of it. That was just a good way to get kicked out of this apartment, which was possibly the only place on campus with people hanging around.

After hanging up, Dean rejoined the group. "Mechanics say it'll be an hour at least," he shrugged, doing his best to seem put out and disappointed.

"You'll just have to wait here then," Tessa said. "No sense freezing outside," she added.

Dean nodded, and let his gaze drift around the small townhouse, spotting a four-foot fake tree with twinkling lights, and other Christmas lights lining the walls and ceilings, interspersed with garland and pine boughs. A homemade sign read "Merry Christmas" and hung slightly crooked above the back entry of the apartment. The small TV displayed a roaring fire; from the "Yule Log" DVD and in the background Dean could hear Christmas carols played over a stereo. Feeling slightly crushed by Christmas cheer Dean almost fainted when Tessa pulled a tray of gingerbread men from the oven.

Wondering if he had somehow fallen into a sappy Christmas movie, Dean leaned against the counter and waited a moment for the Ghost of Christmas Past to pop up and tell him about all of the bad things he had done. That could be a long conversation, come to think of it…

However, the Ghost did not make itself known, just Tessa smiling at him. "So what brings you to Skidmore College?" she asked. She seemed so friendly and comfortable; didn't she realize how dangerous he could be? What if he were a serial killer? And there she was standing in her Christmas-filled house smiling and welcoming him. The level of innocence and trust others had always astonished him. If they knew what was really out there; what evils lurked in the shadows and in people themselves… But then again, that's why there were people like him around; to protect the naïve.

"I'm actually here investigating the disappearances that have been happening in the Northwoods," he said.

"Police?" Joy asked, pushing a lock of pin-straight hair away from her face.

"I'm more of a private investigator," he responded. "You all wouldn't happen to know about the disappearances, would you?"

"Just that we've been warned to stay inside at night; and not go anywhere alone," Tessa answered, her forehead creasing slightly.

"And to stay away from the perimeter of the woods," Jason added. "People keep disappearing just outside of the apartment area."

Dean nodded. "Thanks, I'll check that out. So what does everyone say about the North Woods?" Dean asked. "Any rumors or legends?"

"Why would you want to know that?" Joy questioned, the too-long sleeves of her striped sweater fell down to her knuckles and she rolled them up. She was looking strangely at Dean, and he suspected this girl had some common sense in her, and didn't want to just chat up the 30-year-old stranger in her kitchen.

"Well you never know what fact there could be in stories," Dean shrugged, shooting her his best grin. "Besides, I've got an hour to kill," he added, sitting on the barstool next to Jason. Dean's attempt at flirtation to get Joy to overlook his weird line of questioning had fallen flat, and it wasn't just because of the fact that he and her boyfriend were rubbing shoulders, but also because with her round face, small eyes and flat nose, she looked to be about twelve years old.

Tessa looked between Dean and Joy, noticing the animosity that had sparked. Carefully, she answered Dean's question, "Well… there is this like hut that's out there, people say a Skidmore student built it to try and live there during the summer. I guess it's not that far in, but it's partially collapsed. The environment group here, they marked trails in the woods, you know, to keep people from getting lost, but it's off from there."

"A hut in the woods?" Dean asked. Tessa nodded.

"I doubt that would help you," Jason offered. "Like she said, it's collapsed, it's not like this psycho snatching people could be staying there." Dean surveyed Jason for a moment.

"So you've seen this place, though?" he asked.

"Yeah… couldn't give you directions to it though, I just stumbled into it a couple years ago."

"Okay, thanks though. Anything else?"

Tessa and Jason both looked at Joy, who had taken to studying a dried coffee ring on the counter. She noticed them watching her, and so lifted her head and pursed her lips before responding, "Well, there is this weird thing where sometimes when people are walking in the woods they say that they saw a man coming towards them; but couldn't really make out any details, like he was always in shadow. But I don't think that really helps you any," she said.

"No, no, it does help, more than you know," Dean said with a smile.

"Why are you doing this today anyway? It's December 23rd, shouldn't you be with your family or something?" Joy questioned unabashedly, deftly changing the subject.

"Christmas really isn't that big of a deal for us," Dean shrugged. And he was right; his father never had much need for the holiday, but Sam had loved it. "Why aren't you three home?" he shot the personal question back.

"My parents went back to Hong Kong for a couple weeks, I didn't really feel like another big family reunion holiday," Joy responded. "I made Jason stay here with me," she added with a smile, the irritation of a moment earlier seeming to have disappeared.

Everyone turned to Tessa. "Skidmore's my home, until May anyway, there's no other place for me to be."

"That reminds me…" Dean murmured, reaching into the inner pocket of his leather jacket. He procured a small, worn photo and held it out to Tessa and her friends. "Have you seen this guy by any chance?" He had flashed that photo just about anytime he met someone new, on the off chance that they would provide him with the lead he so desperately needed.

Joy and Jason shook their heads emphatically and Tessa took the photo for closer inspection; staring at the picture of a smiling brown-haired man. "He looks familiar, but I just can't place it," Tessa said apologetically, handing the photo back. "He a friend of yours?"

"My little brother actually, he went missing about two years ago."

"Oh, I'm sorry," Tessa responded. Everyone looked around uncomfortably for a moment, and then Tessa marched up to the refrigerator and grabbed a carton of eggnog. Pulling out some glasses she poured everyone some. "This is the kind with alcohol," she added as she pushed a glass into Dean's hand. She then began opening various tins on the counters to reveal hordes of Christmas cookies. "Help yourself."

"You really think you should be this nice to a stranger; there might possibly be a psycho on the loose you know," Dean pointed out, swiping a peanut butter cookie and munching on it.

"Well let's just say that I'm feeling possessed by the Christmas spirit."

Hah, if the Christmas Spirit was really capable of possessing people then Dean would exorcise that bitch straight back to Hell. He took another look at his surroundings, past Jason and Joy who had relocated to the couch and were completely making out. If anyone he knew ever saw him, Dean Winchester, in the middle of this Hallmark card setting they would laugh their ass off. Sipping eggnog and chomping on little sugar cookie angels while surrounded by garland and lights… God how did these people not want to blow their brains out? The worst part was he was sure his little brother would have liked it a lot.

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**A/N: I would love to know what you thought.**

**Till next time,**

**A.C.E.**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Thank you to my wonderful reviewers, you guys are great! Here's the next chapter, I hope you enjoy it!**

**Disclaimer: Refer to chapter one.**

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**A Long Winter's Night**

By: Ada C. Eliana

Chapter 3

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_Time/ Standing all alone/ I bled for you/ I wanted to/ Each drop my own_

_Slowly they depart/ But fall in vain/ Like desert rain/ And still they fall on and on and on_

_Got to get back to a reason/ Got to get back to a reason I once knew/ And this late in the seasons/ One by one distractions fade from view_

_So/ Drifting through the dark/ The sympathy/ Of night's mercy/ Inside my heart_

_Is your life the same?/ Do ghosts cry tears?/ Do they feel years?_

_As time just goes on and on and on_

"Back to a Reason (Part II)" Trans-Siberian Orchestra

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He turned back to Tessa who was shaking her hips to "Rockin' Around the Christmas Tree" and thought about the Christmases Sam had spent at Stanford. Had he stayed on campus? Did his friends stay with him and decorate and bake and everything? Sam had never really said anything about his time in college and Dean supposed he was partially to blame for that. Ever since Sam disappeared Dean wondered more and more on the missing three years, trying to piece together in his mind what Sam's life had been like before Jess died and it all came crashing down in a hail of flame.

It took him a moment to register the fact that Tessa was talking to him. "If it's too personal, you don't have to answer or anything, but I was just wondering… your brother… how did he disappear?" she asked. Joy and Jason had relocated to the couch, and were now making out in the glow of the "Yule Log." Tessa's elbows were on the counter, and she was leaning forward, towards Dean, the neckline of the green shirt under her white vest plunging low; Dean barely even noticed; his mind somewhere else.

"There was this… person… who was after us," Dean said after a moment, surprising even himself. He would later blame this lapse on the high alcohol content of his eggnog, or the fact that it was so freaking cold outside, or some lapse in sanity, but it was really because he had been alone far too long with no one to really talk to; and it had absolutely nothing to do with some sentimentality about the Christmas season. "We got into a car crash, I was hurt pretty bad, and Sam – that's my brother – thought he found out where the guy was headed while I was still in the hospital, so he took off after him. I tried to track him down, but nothing, and I haven't heard from him since."

"What about other relatives?" she asked, eyes filled with sympathy.

"It's just me, Sam, and my Dad. But Dad decided that Sam was probably dead and that I was wasting my life searching for him, so him and me, we don't really talk to each other anymore," he added bitterly.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, eyes slightly glassy.

"So your turn, why is Skidmore your home?" he asked, deftly changing the subject before she got him to spill any more.

"My parents and I don't really get along," she shrugged. "College was my ticket out of their world, and I don't intend to go back, ever. We made a deal, they would pay for my school, and I wouldn't come home. It's worked out pretty good so far."

They sat in silence, punctuated by the music and the kissing sounds coming from the couple behind them. "When I showed you the photo… you said Sam looked familiar, are you sure you don't remember why?" Dean pressed.

"Can I see the picture again?" she asked. Dean nodded and pulled the picture out of his jacket again, handing it to her and watching her expression closely. She furrowed her eyebrows as she stared at it, and then finally looked back up at Dean. "I mean… he looks familiar, but I think it's just because he has one of those faces, you know? Like those people whose faces are kind of similar to other people; kind of standard.

"Are you sure?" Dean asked again, trying to stifle the slight hint of desperation in his tone.

"I can't help you, I'm sorry," she answered with finality, handing the photo back to him. Dean let his eyes linger over the image for a moment before pushing it back into his pocket.

Dean pressed his eyes closed for a minute, clearing his head and forcing himself to focus back on the topic at hand – an angry spirit. "So what Joy was saying, about this man in the woods, is there anything more to that?"

"Not much… she saw him once, but she doesn't like to mention it, I guess she got pretty freaked out. She said he looked about sixty though." Tessa paused, collecting her thoughts. "It was near that shack…"

"Really? Any directions on how to get to the shack?"

"Uh… I think… if you go to the road behind this one, and then follow the end of the road into the forest…. I think that's the best way to get to it," Tessa muttered.

Tessa refilled her glass with more eggnog and glanced around Dean at her housemates. "So really, what kind of 'private investigator' are you anyway?" she asked, turning her attention back to him, but not quite meeting his eyes.

"Well Tessa, we all have our secrets; besides, it's strictly confidential," he smiled. "Just hope you're never in a situation where you have to find out what I do." Tessa's expression shifted and she looked nervously at Dean. "Jeez Tessa, it's not like I'm going to hurt you," he muttered, his social skills quickly degenerating. "I should get back to my car, thanks for… you know… everything," he said, pulling his coat back on.

"You're welcome," Tessa responded as he headed for the door. "And… for what it's worth, I hope you find your brother."

Dean turned around, his hand on the doorknob, and looked Tessa straight in the eye. "So do I Tessa."

* * *

The sky had darkened considerably while he had been in that apartment. It was nearly pitch black outside, winter forcing sunset to an earlier time. Trudging back to the Impala, Dean considered the hunt one more time, trying to ignore the way Tessa had looked at Sam's picture as if she had seen him before; the way she answered "he looks familiar." She didn't know anything; she couldn't have.

On the subject of the hunt, Dean decided to postpone any hikes through the woods until morning, at least then he would be able to see. But if a corpse needed to be dug up, it just might have to wait until spring.

* * *

Not wanting to deal with any more people for the remainder of the evening, Dean rented a room in the motel he had passed on his way into town. He slapped a credit card on the counter and asked for two queens. For the past two years every time he stopped for the night he would get a room with two beds; just in case that day he found Sam. The day he rented a room just for himself would be the day he gave up on his little brother.

Dean shoved the door open and stared at the room. It was relatively standard; plain striped wallpaper, two beds separated by a nightstand, a TV cabinet across from them, a small desk and chair. The sink was inside the room while another door led to the bathroom. It could've been any one of a hundred hotel rooms Dean had stayed in over the years.

Dean lugged his duffle bag and a small weapon's bag and tossed them on the floor between the two beds, the laptop case he placed on the bed closest to the door. He ordered a pizza from a local place the guy working had suggested, and then settled down for a night of research. He unzipped the laptop bag; it was small, form fitted to the computer. He slid the laptop out and plugged the adapter into the wall. It was a MAC, a Powerbook or something, whatever that guy at the Apple store had suggested. It was supposed to be one of the best, with all kinds of special features and crap Dean didn't really understand or care about. He had bought it when the Impala was out of the shop and he was ready to hit the road. The Dell had been destroyed in the wreck, and he figured he would be able to track down Sam relatively quickly, or that Sam would realize it had been dumb to leave, and come back to him, so he bought the computer as a gift for his brother – to be given to him after he kicked his ass for taking off like that of course.

For now Dean just used the computer for research on the internet, though he never mastered the trick of getting wireless internet anywhere like Sam did. The only time his brother had ever mentioned it he had said something about some sort of satellite internet or something; but Dean hadn't been paying attention at the time, and so his internet access these days was hit and miss.

* * *

Two hours and three slices of pizza later and Dean had just stumbled across an article about the disappearance of two men; one a third year student at Skidmore, Gregory Davis, and the other a middle-aged local man, David Bennett.

_"Bennett was reported missing early Monday morning by his wife; Claire; who said he had not been home since Saturday night."_

_"Davis disappeared after a party in a Skidmore northwoods apartment Saturday night. Friends say he appeared to be intoxicated but insisted he was fine. He left the party alone and never reached his dorm."_

"So you both disappeared on the same night… what could have happened?" Dean mused, looking over the two articles again. "I'm suspecting there might be murder involved here. But why both of them?" Dean looked up more information on the two men, and puzzled over the details before throwing his hands in the air and giving up on the stupid research. He just had to get into the woods and look for the bones; salt and burn them, and then move along. And that would have to wait until tomorrow, which meant he needed to find something to do until morning.

* * *

Eleven o'clock found Dean in the back of a crowded bar with a couple of empty shot glasses and a mug of beer in front of him. He watched the people around him; all miserable and most of them alone. Why else would someone go to a bar on such a frigid cold night? Anyone who had anyone they cared about would be out shopping for last-minute Christmas gifts, or inside with them rather than at some crummy bar (he was just happy the cutesy city of Saratoga Springs **had** crummy bars) drowning their sorrows in alcohol. There were no pool tables, and so Dean just had to sit there, thinking. How this was better than the hotel he didn't really know.

As it always did when he had too much to drink, Dean's mind drifted back two years; to the cabin and the last run-in with the demon. If he could go back and do it all over again, what could he possibly have changed? Shot his dad outright? He couldn't have just sacrificed his father's life, and Sam had proven that just hitting the person anywhere with a bullet didn't kill the demon inside. Then what? Not antagonized the demon? But he antagonized the demon to get its focus off of Sam, and stop it from saying things that would just make Sam feel more guilty, and reverse all the progress they had made on the "it wasn't your fault" front. And who knows what that demon might have said? What exactly were those "plans" and could knowing them have made the situation even worse?

Basically, looking back he still couldn't see where he could have changed something to prevent Sam from leaving. It was up to Sam to make that decision, and Dean had no power over what he did. Somehow that did little to make him feel better. Because he didn't want to blame Sam, to be angry at him and hate him; he couldn't. Sam must have felt trapped; pushed into a corner with very few options; having to live with the guilt of two deaths on his shoulders, and not wanting to add his father and brother to that list. He understood why Sam did what he did, but he still wasn't satisfied with that.

He cut his thoughts off there, they always seemed to just ramble and jumble together past that point. Paying his tab, Dean grabbed his coat and headed back outside to the waiting Impala.

* * *

The motel room's heat was on high, the room stifling to him as he stumbled in from the cold. Slightly uncoordinated from drinking, Dean slammed the door shut and nearly tripped over the bed as he walked into the room. Picking himself back up again, he tossed his coat on the bed. The picture in the inside pocket poked out of the material, Sam's face half-covered by the lining. _"I mean… he looks familiar, but I think it's just because he has one of those faces, you know? Like those people whose faces are kind of similar to other people; kind of standard."_ Standard, was that what she had said? That Sam looked just like everybody else? Sam with his puppy dog eyes and his ability to get people to do exactly what he wanted? His too-tall brother who caught the attention of so many girls just by trying to be invisible? He'd been combing the country with this picture and never once thought that Sam just looked so similar to everyone else. Then again… maybe Sam didn't even look like that anymore. Maybe he had been burned or cut or something and looked like someone completely different.

Maybe he was dead.

Shaking his head, Dean grabbed at the hem of his shirt and pulled it off. As he got the T-shirt up over his chest his hands ran across the scars from the demon's attack. He threw the shirt on the floor and looked down at his abdomen where the slashes stood plainly out from his skin. They were his souvenirs from the fight; the last remaining evidence that the night in the cabin had actually happened. Touching them again made everything seem shockingly clear and real; the last two years he had spent alone; the utter destruction that one demon had caused in his family; the loss of not just his brother, but his father too. _"It's December 23rd; shouldn't you be with your family or something?" _Joy's question repeated in his mind, mocking him, and Dean felt all the emotions he had bottled up come bursting out of him.

He saw red, and before he knew what was happening, he had reached for the items closest to him, bags and weapons, and threw them hard against the wall, satisfied as one smashed against the small dresser in the room and clattered to the floor. In a rage he tore through the contents of the room, throwing whatever he could get his hands on, and slamming other things around. John's journal hit the wall hard and fell to the floor, pages and stuffed papers falling out as it reached the floor. He tossed anything he came into contact with, the physical release liberating and the venting of his pent-up rage relieving. The beds were ripped apart and everything Dean owned was either scattered or broken.

Anger, regret, sorrow, loneliness, and pure hate rolled out of him in a catastrophic wave, destroying everything he came into contact with. Breathing heavy, he grabbed the last thing in the room – the laptop – and threw it against the motel room wall.

His rage spent instantly as the white computer clattered to the ground. His breaths coming in shaky gasps, Dean collapsed on the floor beside the computer.

"I'm sorry Sammy. I'm so sorry. I wish there was something I could do. I don't know what to do anymore, Sam…" He lowered his head into his hands, not wanting to see the empty extra bed or the destroyed room. He tried to stifle the voice in his mind that told him that if Sam were coming back he would have by now; that Sam was gone forever. For the first time in his life, Dean felt the all encompassing feeling of complete loneliness. And for the fourth time in his life, Dean Winchester broke down and cried.

* * *

**A/N: Poor Dean!**

**I'm envisioning two more chapters for this story, and I promise, you'll find out about what happened to Sam within those chapters. I would love to know what you thought. Please review!**

**Merry Christmas to all the Christians out there!**

**_-Ada_**


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: A big thank you to my four reviewers out there! I love reading what you have to say! And to everyone lurking, please please please leave me a review on this chapter - please. I just would love to know what you think of the story.**

**Disclaimer: Refer to chapter 1**

**Enjoy!

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**

A Long Winter's Night

By: Ada C. Eliana

Chapter 4

* * *

_To all the fights I've conquered and beyond  
The times have changed and I will now move over slowly...  
But through it all I still feel lost without you  
Hard to find a new soul  
The silence takes its toll_

-"Sway" Lostprophets

* * *

Dean wandered through the Northwoods shovel and sawed off shotgun in hand and a bag of miscellaneous hunting supplies slung over his shoulder. The air felt colder than the day before. It wasn't snowing anymore, but Dean had a sinking suspicion that it had something to do with it being too damn cold to snow. "Whatever happened to global warming anyway?" he asked no one in particular. "Cause I could really use some of that about now."

His head was pounding; the unfortunate consequence of a night of drinking. He tried to forget about the little freak-out he'd had back at the motel room. If anything, the hunt was good for him in one way; it got his mind off of everything else. Now all he had to do was find the stupid hut and hope there were bones somewhere easily accessible. Then he could move on to the next fight. Personally, he hoped it would be something interesting; a real adrenaline rushing fight with something he could touch; like a werewolf or a wendigo or something.

"God it is so frickin' cold!" he shouted as he walked through a row of pines, trying to keep to the snow-buried trail. This was exactly why he always found an excuse to be on hunts in Texas and the Deep South during the winter.

Not watching his footing, he tripped over a fallen log, crashing to the ground face-first. He swore, knowing there would be a bruise on his hip from the way he fell onto everything he was holding. The shovel alone was bound to leave a mark. Stumbling to his feet and sliding in the snow, Dean leaned against a tree to get his bearings. He brushed the snow off of his clothes, which was pretty useless at this point as his jeans were already soaked through. "I hate the woods!" he shouted. Then he shut up, worried that someone might actually hear him and come to investigate why a crazy guy was shouting in the woods with a gun in his hands. The last thing he needed today would be to be arrested.

He followed Tessa's directions towards the hut, hoping he could actually see it even if it were covered in snow. The woods were filled with pine trees, all green beneath a thick layer of white. The branches bent towards the ground, and as he walked by he idly brushed some snow off, watching as they shot back up, littering the air with errant snowflakes. He looked up, staring at the cloud-covered sky through the opening in the copse of trees, the pine branches obscuring his view. At least it was still light out, but it was that hazy sort of light that lingers all day during winters in the north. The sun was hidden and the dull glow that reached the Earth didn't seem like enough. But Dean was used to working at night, so even this was a step up.

Being a Midwest boy he had spent very few winters in the northeast corner of the country. Now he could see where some of the Christmas clichés came from – the lit up cities covered in snow with huge pine trees and frosted windows. Maybe in a different lifetime he could have appreciated all of that – enjoyed it even – in the life he lost when his mother died he probably would have.

He could remember very little about the time before then, but he had seen some of the pictures. His parents had strived hard to make Christmas special, but once his mother died it became just one more unnecessary distraction. More often than not John would just become so overly involved in something; whether it be hunting or wallowing in grief, and just completely forget about it. He supposed maybe all of that "good will towards man" stuff didn't mean a whole hell of a lot when someone had lost someone so important; when they knew what was lurking in the dark. It was hard to think of peace and joy when evil slaughtered people daily.

A shadow moved in the corner of his vision. He spun, searching it out, but it was off of the trail and hidden by the trees. Senses heightened; he stared about him, moving slowly and purposefully with the gun out in front of him. He saw it again; the shadowed form of a man, staggering out in front of him on the trail. He seemed to pause, and then turned to face Dean.

He was almost six feet tall, but standing with his shoulder's stooped. His stomach bulged in the classic beer belly, and the shadow flannel he wore looked old and tattered. This guy was definitely David Bennett. His mouth was moving and Dean heard a whisper on the air but he could not make out what the man was trying to say to him. And considering how many people had disappeared in these woods he was lax to go the route they had gone at the Roosevelt Asylum and listen to the spirit.

He took careful aim on Bennett as the ghost advanced, flailing his arms and now audibly shouting completely nonsense as he trudged forward. As he neared, Dean saw the splash of blood across the front of David's flannel; probably the killing blow. He wondered idly if the first in the now long string of Skidmore students who went missing had done that. But he pushed the thought away, it didn't matter how the angry spirits came to be, or what they did when they were alive so long as he got rid of them.

David stumbled towards Dean, looking very drunk and out of it as he rambled on unintelligibly. He neared and Dean fired; rock salt bursting through the spirit's form. David vanished in a wisp of gray smoke, and Dean took off towards the direction David had come from; hoping to find the bones before he regained his strength and returned.

As he hurried down the trail, Dean thought he heard footsteps crunching the snow behind him. He spun to face the person, but no one was there. Shaking it off as paranoia, Dean continued.

He had just spotted David again when he took an unexpected turn through the woods and saw the hut. When first built it must have looked like a kid's playhouse, just about 6 square feet in size – just big enough to sleep in mostly. The deteriorated walls that had survived showed that the ceiling must have been only about four feet high. The whole structure was built out of badly nailed-together two-by-fours and the cracks between boards must have been there from the start. However, the roof had folded in, the consequences of years of weather and exposure taking its toll.

It was half-hidden by the snow, and as Dean approached it he noticed the misty particles in the air before him coalescing into the spirit of David Bennett. Wondering if he should have thought up a better plan first, he shot at the spirit, and then scrambled to the hut; kneeling down next to the structure.

He dug through the snow covering it until he reached the wood. Frequently glancing up for any signs of spiritual activity, Dean stood and bent down to lift the broken roof. Using his shovel for leverage, he braced his legs and then managed to pull the roof fragment up just enough to shove it aside. It had begun to snow, thick heavy flakes rushed down at him.

David suddenly appeared in front of him, a club in his hands. He swung it at Dean, hitting him hard in his right shoulder and knocking him backwards onto the snow. Dean ignored the burning pain in his shoulder as he forced himself to his feet. He lifted the sawed-off shotgun to shoot some more rock salt, but the ghost had disappeared already.

Not wasting any time, Dean returned to the hut, hoping his hunch that the bones were under the roof there was correct. He lifted the stray boards that remained on top; remnants of the roof and walls, tossing them as best he could with his busted arm. Rotting leaves and layers of pine needles were revealed once the wood had been moved. He reached dirt and wondered if it were possible that someone had buried the bodies. But when he broke it up with his hands, it only amounted to a thin layer, just a collection of dirt from years of neglect. He dug through the dirt and felt bone beneath his gloved hands. He worked quickly; brushing the dirt off and revealing two skeletons lying next to each other on an old tattered red blanket.

"Alright," Dean sighed, reaching into the bag to pull out the gas can. He had just closed his hands around it when something heavy and hard struck his upper back. "Son of bitch!" He cried out in pain and fell forward. He put the gun over his shoulder and fired again, hearing a high pitched shriek as David disappeared. He lay in the snow, panting, his back throbbing terribly. He gazed out at the bodies again, and saw that the one had shattered bones; he must have been the college student, bludgeoned to death. The other body was on its side, curled in towards the stomach, with a knife lying between its ribs. That one had to be David. The other guy must have stabbed him just before he died.

Dean grabbed the gas and the salt out of the bag, and doused the bones with both. Then he pulled the lighter from his pocket and was about to set them on fire when he was suddenly flying through the air. The lighter fell from his hand, landing next to the hut as Dean's back and head collided painfully with a tree, and he collapsed to the ground dazed. There was a bruise forming on his lower back, where David had hit him to throw him from the bones.

Dark spots were forming at the corners of his vision as he watched David approaching. He couldn't move; his body jarred and in pain. He just couldn't believe he was going to be killed by some middle-aged ghost with a club in the middle of the freaking woods on Christmas Eve. Wow, his dad would be so disappointed if he ever found out. How humiliating that would be for him, to know that his oldest son got killed on a routine salt and burn. Well that would prove Sam's theory; that John was just stubborn enough to outlive both of them. What a legacy for John Winchester to leave; one son disappearing and never heard from again for the family crusade, and the other clubbed to death by an angry spirit. What a joke they were. What a frickin' joke.

David was staring at him, taking slow calculated steps towards him; showing the killer he had been when he was alive; wanting to make Dean sweat, let him know he was about to die.

Dean heard a crunch of boots on the snow behind David. He tried to move to see who it was, but he all he could make out were a pair of dark boots and jeans. The man, whoever he was, leaned down, long graceful fingers reaching for the silver lighter. Dean felt a flash of recognition as he trained his eyes on the pale hand, and his heart beat wildly as he strained to see his face. With practiced motions the man ignited the lighter and tossed it on the bones. The flames rose quickly, and then all Dean could see was David's body roiling and writhing as the fire ate at his bones. In a flash of light he began to disappear. However, at the same moment, even though he tried valiantly to stay awake, trying in vain to catch a glimpse of the man before him, the darkness at the borders of his vision expanded and he felt himself plunge into darkness.

* * *

Dean awoke to the feeling of someone lightly running a hand through his hair in a comforting motion. His eyes were still closed, and his head still spinning, He was cold except for the warm body that he was slightly leaning against. It took him a moment to realize that he was not in some hot girl's bedroom and that he had not passed out with his father or brother close by.

Then he remembered the ghost that almost killed him, and the slender hand of the man who saved him; a man wearing a wristband that matched his own. He would know that person anywhere.

Sam.

It could only have been Sam.

He stirred slightly as he tried to pry his eyes open, and abruptly felt the person cut off their movements, only to sense the person standing and hurrying away. As his eyes flickered open he found himself staring up at the darkening sky. He turned his head slightly to the side, just in time to catch a glimpse of the shadow the figure made as he disappeared into the trees.

"Sammy!" he called out as he struggled to fully regain consciousness.

By the time he regained his bearings and managed to stand Sam was gone and whatever trail he might have left had been covered by snow.

* * *

**A/N: So was it really Sam he saw? If so, why would Sam leave like that? Was he a ghost? Was he really there? Is Dean crazy? I would love to know what you thought!**

**Till next time, **

**_Ada_**


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: I'd like to extend a special thank you to blackpanther97, symba, samantha-dean, WinchesterHaunt, roxy071288, Starliteyes17, emwonkuod, scatteredbrains, snfan228, and MistyEyes for your reviews on chapter four. You guys are awesome, thank you so much for your comments!**

**This is the final chapter in A Long Winter's Night, so thank you to everyone who has been reading, I hope you enjoy the final installment.**

**Disclaimer: Refer to chapter one.**

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**A Long Winter's Night**

By: Ada C. Eliana

Chapter 5

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Dean wasn't quite sure how he had gotten back to the motel. He remembered spending what felt like hours tramping through the woods searching for Sam, screaming himself hoarse as he tried desperately to locate his sibling. He was sure he had seen Sam; certain it had been his kid brother. He pushed the sleeve up on his coat, staring at the wristband on his right wrist, the one identical to the man that saved him, identical to Sam's. After he gave up his fruitless search; forced into retreating by the aching in his back, he had collected his tools and then returned to the edge of the woods where his car sat waiting for him.

Now he sat in the motel room, after having patched himself up as well as he could alone. He wasn't bleeding much, so that was a good sign, but he could have a concussion, which meant no sleeping or drinking for the rest of the day. It didn't hurt so much anymore; he figured that his blacking out in the woods must have been more from the shock of the injury – hitting the tree the way he had – than anything that would cause long-term damage. He didn't even have a concussion. He had popped a couple of pain pills and taken a shower.

However, he wasn't well enough to go back to the woods and search some more, not that it would do any good. His little brother had been sloppy today, letting Dean see him; know he was there. He doubted Sam would repeat that if he still hoped to evade Dean.

And besides, now he wasn't so sure that he had actually seen **Sam.**

Maybe it had been someone else; someone on the run or something. But then – why would they have tried to comfort him while he was out? Why wouldn't they have just called an ambulance and left?

Maybe it had been Sam, but just Sam's ghost, helping out just enough. Maybe he didn't want Dean to see him and know for sure he was dead. But that – that was just so un-Sammy like. He would want Dean to know what happened; he would know his big brother would be worried; wouldn't be able to move on until he knew the truth.

So that brought him back to it actually having been Sam. And what was Sam doing in Saratoga Springs anyway? No less in the same woods where Dean was hunting. There was nothing remotely indicating the presence of the demon in that area. Or had Sam been checking up on Dean? Watching him from afar as he and his father did during Sam's Stanford years? But wasn't he supposed to be demon hunting? Why wouldn't Sam stick around to talk to him? Was he angry for some reason? Or was he afraid?

Then again he had hit his head… maybe no one had been there. There were no tracks or anything to indicate that someone had actually helped him out. Maybe he had lit the bones and then blacked out and hallucinated the whole thing.

Night had just begun to set in and Dean stared through the hotel room windows; as if expecting for the answer to his questions to be there somewhere in the darkening sky and the falling snow. And well, maybe it was.

"Christmas miracles, right? Well where's mine?" he huffed. "Oh, other than that whole saving my life in the woods thing earlier," he added as an afterthought. He wasn't sure of who he was talking to – God maybe; not that he would ever admit to believing in anything. But if having a little faith was all it would take to fix this…

* * *

At some point in his musings he had dozed off; jerking awake and discovering that he was hungry. He glanced at the windows and realized it was completely dark outside and yet only 7 p.m. Winters in the Northeast sucked. 

Dean glanced around the room, glad that he had cleaned up in the morning, putting everything in its place. He liked the order and the familiarity of things that way. He pulled his clothes bag open and reached for the bag of chips and bottle of soda he had tossed in there at the last gas station he stopped at. The soda was flat but the chips were okay, and eating that was better than going outside again to get food. That was the problem with hunting alone; there was no one to get you dinner when you were injured.

He turned the TV on and channel surfed as he ate. Halfway into his second mini bag of Doritos and an episode of some show that seemed entirely about teenagers having sex, Dean fished his cell phone out of his bag and stared at it. He wondered if he should call his father and tell him what happened. But what would he say "hey Dad, I think I maybe saw Sam today, but he ran off and I was too out of it to follow him."? Yeah, that'd go over well. Maybe as well as their last conversation…

_"Dammit Dean, you need to get back to work. You can't keep wasting time anymore; there are people out there who need your help!"_

_"Wasting time? Dad, I'm looking for my little brother, I wouldn't exactly call that 'wasting time'!"_

_"Sam left Dean, he LEFT. If he wants to see you; he'll come back. But at this point… son, it's been a while, you need to accept the possibility that he went up against the demon and didn't make it."_

_"NO! Don't you dare say that! Sam is alive, and I'm going to find him! If you've given up on him than that's your business, but I'll keep looking for Sam."_

_"Dean… he's gone… you have to move on…"_

_"Shut up! You don't know! You don't know what might've happened, and I won't stop searching until I find out for sure."_

_"Dean you have work to do. Focus on that. Don't waste your life. Forget about finding Sam."_

At that point he had hung up. He had no desire to repeat that conversation. He flung the phone down and stood up. Suddenly the room seemed too hot, and too small, and too bright.

Suffocating in the small space; the memory of his father's voice still ringing in his ears, Dean grabbed his coat and shoved the motel room door open. He inhaled the cold night air and felt his panic beginning to ease. Making his way towards the only family he had with him; his snow-covered Impala, Dean began to force the memories away. He leaned against the hood of the car, his breath appearing before him in small puffs of white.

For that moment in time it felt like it was just him and the Impala under the black sky; surrounded by snow. And Dean felt another pang of loneliness hit him. He stared up into the darkness and sighed.

"Nice car," a hoarse man's voice said somewhat tentatively from somewhere behind him.

"Yep," he replied without turning around, without much interest. The voice had sounded cracked and painful, like the way someone sounds after having been strangled or having screamed until their throat tore.

The man took a step towards the Impala, the crunching snow letting Dean know he was about two feet from his baby's bumper. "Could use a touch-up though; don't want to get rust," the man added, somewhat mockingly.

Dean began to turn, intent on telling the guy to fuck-off and mind his own damn business when he froze. Something about that voice was familiar.

No way.

No freakin' way…

He spun around as fast as he could to see a tall, thin man in a blue knit hat standing in front of the trunk of the Impala, grinning somewhat awkwardly at Dean. He had sea-green eyes that were barely visible in the pale light from the center of the motel parking lot; which were set in a face Dean could never forget.

Sam.

Sam was here – and not just here, but talking to him, _grinning _at him,and making jokes about his _car_.

"Sam?" he asked, crossing the space between them in four quick strides.

"Yeah," Sam said in that same foreign voice as Dean fisted his hands in the Carhartt coat Sam was wearing, anchoring Sam and preventing him from making a hasty getaway. Without another word, Dean released his hold on the coat and swung his arms around Sam, pulling him into an embrace. Sam copied the gesture, dropping the small duffle bag he had been holding and allowing himself to relax at Dean's touch. It had been a while since he had felt safe enough to relax at all.

The normal amount of time for a hug to last passed, and Dean seemed unwilling to let go. Sam could understand; he had been standing outside the motel room for a while, watching Dean through the window and trying to work up the courage to go knock. He was saved the trouble when Dean came outside and stood by his car. Dean had just looked so… so lost standing there, that Sam couldn't help but reveal himself.

Dean, his face pressed against Sam's shoulder, held him close, unable to make himself lose that physical contact.

Because Sam was here.

He was **here**.

And maybe he had taken some expired medication and was hallucinating the whole thing, but even so, he didn't care, because right now he was with Sam and he could touch him and that meant more to him than anything.

"Uh… Dean… you okay?" Sam finally whispered. Dean winced as his brother spoke, unused to the strange way his voice now sounded.

"Yeah… yeah, Sam, sorry," Dean responded, releasing him just enough to take a step back, his hands still on Sam's shoulders. Dean's eyes were shining slightly with moisture; just barely visible in the low lighting; and Sam's were too.

"Come on, let's go inside," Dean said, wanting a chance to look at his brother properly; make sure all his limbs were still attached. He led Sam to the motel room, maintaining tactile contact the whole way.

* * *

When they went inside Dean immediately steered Sam to the first bed, and sat down next to him, his hand on his brother's arm. He had so many questions for Sam that he didn't even know where to start. Where had he been all this time? Did he kill the demon? Was he okay – really? What had happened in the two years he had been away? Had he been safe? Had he suffered? Why was he in Saratoga? Why approach him now? Why, why, why? 

But overpowering the questions was the overwhelming sense of relief and joy to have him back, to see that he was whole and alive and okay. Those two and a half years felt a million times longer than the three years Sam had spent in school, at least then he had known where he was. And to think, just the previous night he had begun to come to grips with the possibility of Sam having died, and now today he had returned to him.

"I missed you," he finally choked out, surprised to hear himself say it out loud. Sam blinked at him sheepishly.

"I missed you too," he responded. "Are you okay?" he added, reaching out towards Dean's bruised back.

"Am I okay? You're the one that's been missing! How are you?"

"I'm uh… I'm okay…" he answered. Dean had to watch his lips to know for sure that the rough, gravelly voice he was hearing was really coming from his little brother. But at that moment Sam could have been talking like an 80-year-old smoker with a tube in his throat and it still would've been the most beautiful thing Dean ever heard.

Dean reached over and hugged his little brother again, if only to reassure himself that Sam was real. It seemed to take Sam by surprise as he stiffened, but Dean was delighted when Sam held him too, this time with more affection than before. "I'm sorry," Sam suddenly whispered. "I didn't mean to hurt you."

"God Sammy, you have no idea what that was like, man. But you came back." Dean released him, holding him at arm's length and studying his face. "And you are **back** right? You're not going to take off again are you?"

"No, I'm back now, for good," Sam assured him, and there was so much relief in his voice that Dean relaxed immediately.

"Was that you in the woods earlier?" he asked. Sam nodded. "Jeez man, why'd you just take off like that?"

"Well other than trying to spare you from the soap opera-grade chick flick moment of opening your fluttering lashes to find your missing brother standing over you and thinking he was a ghost at first… I don't know, I guess I've been avoiding you so long that when you started to wake up I panicked." He paused, collecting his thoughts, and Dean watched him closely, waiting for the words that would give him some insight into Sam's current mental state. "I guess I was worried about how you'd… react – that maybe you'd be mad at me." He was staring at his hands as if they were the most interesting things in the room.

"Mad at you? You thought I wouldn't want to see you or something? All I've thought about for the past two years, and six months is getting you back. I've combed this country for you, I've flashed your picture at every person I talked to, and the only thing that makes me mad is the thought that you would doubt me for one second. Sammy, you're my little brother, and I have always tried to look out for you, and when you left in Missouri, it was like the floor fell out, man. I couldn't look out for you anymore. I had no idea where you were, you'd just disappeared! And then everyone kept telling me to give it up; to give up on you and just go live my life, but I just couldn't do that. I mean damn, I've paid double to get a room with two queens every time I stopped for the night just in case I found you that day. I could never be mad at you for coming back dude."

For a long moment Sam didn't say anything, and Dean wondered if his words had any effect, or if Sam had just tuned them out. Then he started to laugh, a low laugh that just got louder.

"What?" Dean asked. "I pour my heart out to you, and you laugh at me?"

"I'm sorry it's just – wow, Dean Winchester, performing a heartfelt monologue… that was just too much," Sam smiled, catching Dean's eye.

"Whatever, bitch," Dean smirked, playfully putting his arm around his brother's shoulders.

"It's been a long time, hasn't it?" Sam said wistfully.

"Too long, Sam," Dean answered suddenly serious. Sam had just used Dean's own favorite tactic to get out of an emotional situation – sarcasm. And it had been so unusual that Dean fell right for it. "Why did you leave Sam? Where have you been all this time?" Dean demanded; his voice somewhat soft.

"I don't even know where to start," Sam sighed, staring at his hands again, it was a new habit that was really starting to get on Dean's nerves.

"Man… when I woke up in that hospital, and Dad told me you'd left, I just couldn't believe it."

"You got my note, right?" Sam questioned, looking up at Dean. Dean caught his gaze, and his eyes looked so wounded, so haunted, that it sent a shiver down Dean's spine. What had happened to his little brother?

"Yeah I got it," Dean responded. He felt anger flare up and was immediately ashamed. He finally had his brother back and all he wanted to do was yell at him? What kind of person was he? He decided to steer the topic away for the moment. "How'd you find me? Or did you just come here to spend Christmas in a town with metal horse statues and Victorian street lamps?" he added jokingly.

"Well for one…" Sam smirked before he spoke again. "Your phone has GPS."

"What?! You've been tracking me with my cell phone?" Dean asked, pulling the offending object out of his bag and staring at it like it was possessed.

"I figured you would never trade it in for a new one, because then I wouldn't know the new number. But I only used it when I needed to."

"Well that explains how you managed to evade me for two years; if you knew where I was the whole time," Dean said, feeding his ego for a moment. He knew there was no way Sam could be that good at hiding.

A shadow seemed to pass over Sam's eyes, but then it was gone and he was smiling. The smile barely touched his eyes, but it warmed Dean anyway. "You did come pretty close a couple times. You know that hotel you stayed in when you were in East Little Ridge, Kentucky? What was it – 'The One Horse Inn' or something? I was in my room there when you pulled into the parking lot." Dean remembered that Kentucky hotel well, it was his first real lead on Sam's whereabouts, the manager even identified Sam's picture, and Dean had torn that inn apart searching for him.

"But more recently I haven't used the GPS," Sam began hesitantly.

"Yeah?"

"I've… uh… sensed for you," he added sheepishly, pointing to his head.

"You found me with your psychic powers? You can do that now?" Dean asked in surprise.

"Yeah, and I can also sense your feelings and listen in on your thoughts," Sam smiled. "So you better watch it."

Dean looked stricken, unsure of how to respond to that. Sam looked at his hands.

Then Sam turned to look up at him, his expression stoic. "Hey Dean, there's something important that I really need to know…." There was an undeniable twinkle in his eye, and Dean waited for the rest. "Did you really sit in here wishing for a 'Christmas miracle'? 'Cause I gotta say, I was wondering if I was 'reading' the wrong guy for a minute there. The Dean I know doesn't have faith in anything, much less the 'Christmas Spirit'."

"Why so cynical, Sam? I think it's time I had some faith, dude. You're the one who was always touting it before," Dean pointed out.

"Yeah well, maybe I've lost it," Sam sighed, sounding much older than he was. The mood in the room had shifted once again.

"Then I guess I have to have enough for the both of us. Besides, I'm getting into this whole 'believing in stuff' thing, I mean, it's working out pretty well. I didn't die today in the woods, and now I've gotten what I wanted for Christmas. I mean, Santa must've missed me the last two years, but at least he got it right this time," Dean smiled.

"Dude, you sound like you're high – or a girl." There it was again, the sarcasm. And coming from 'chick-flick' Sam it raised Dean's anxiety.

"Yeah well, Merry Christmas to you too, Scrooge," Dean smirked. He studied Sam for a moment, and he had to admit, his kid brother looked exhausted. He had taken off his coat, but the knit-cap remained firmly in place, and surprisingly no pesky brown strands were peeking out from beneath it – one more mystery. However, all of his questions and everything he wanted to know from Sam could wait a while. What they both needed right now was some sleep.

"Now, if we go to bed, will you promise me that you'll still be here in the morning? Cause I took some painkillers earlier and I can feel them kicking in now, and I'd rather not pass out in your lap."

"Yeah, I'll be here," Sam answered firmly – music to Dean's ears.

As Dean settled in to bed and his breathing evened out, Sam relaxed and closed his eyes. Even when he was doped up on painkillers, Sam never felt as safe as he did when he was with Dean. And as he prepared for what would probably be his best night's sleep for over two years, Sam blocked his mind of the dark thoughts that chased him in the dark and focused on his older brother. And even though he knew Dean was already asleep, he heard himself speak aloud.

"I got what I wanted too – Merry Christmas Dean."

* * *

Later on Dean would look back on that night and think it was all rather anti-climatic; that after over two years of searching he hadn't found his brother at all; Sam had come to him in the parking lot of a cheap motel. But he supposed that was the way it was supposed to be. Sam had left him; not been taken, so there was no need for a death-defying rescue, he wasn't the hero in that story, just a lonely guy leaning against his car. 

Sam had finished what he needed to do, he had been the martyr and the hero, and then he had come back to Dean when he was ready. The fact that it was Christmas Eve night had been a coincidence, or so Sam had said. But Dean couldn't help it if he never thought of Christmas quite the same way again.

And even though he knew that his days of battling weren't over, if only the battle of overcoming what the years apart had done to them, he would never take back that night, he would never give it away for anything. He and Sam were together again, and they could face anything together; that much he was sure of.

* * *

The End

* * *

**A/N: I know you're all thinking 'Don't stop there!' so I would like to reassure you that there _will_ be a sequel. So please keep your eyes out for the next story.**

**Please review, I would love to know what you thought.**

**Thank your for reading, **

**_Ada_**


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